Dream Smaller, Darling
by VergofTowels
Summary: A receptacle for all of the Inception bits I write that are too short to make proper stories out of.  Contains/will contain: romance, drama, crack, and lots of humor!  Main pairing: Arthur/Eames
1. Haze

Prompt: Sharing a post-coital cigarette.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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Arthur pushes a hand through his hair, no longer pomaded but sticky with sweat. "You know those thing will kill you one day, right?" He shifts on the bed, pushing aside the wet and tangled sheets to get some air on his legs. It's hot.

Eames just smiles, lighting up a cigarette and sliding it between his teeth. "They'll have to get in line." He takes a drag and lets out the smoke in one satisfied breath. It's dark in the room, but Arthur can see it drifting in the faint light from the window.

"Here," he says, and plucks the cig out of Eames's mouth, wrapping his own lips around it. He tastes nicotine and damp and, barely, Eames's saliva. He's careful, when he puffs, not to get too much. He hasn't smoked since high school.

"You little thief," chuckles Eames, his accent getting stronger in his exhaustion. He falls back against the pillows and tugs Arthur's arm until the younger man follows.

"That's you," says Arthur, giving the cigarette back. He sighs and tucks his head against the forger's shoulder, ending the argument. Lazily, he lets his eyes droop, his last sight before sleep a slight curl of smoke going up toward the ceiling.

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Review please! I know it's short. XD


	2. Beam a Little Bigger

Prompt: Arthur and Eames build a treehouse for Cobb's children. Gen.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception.

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"I think we should do something more interesting than _that_, Arthur," exclaims Eames, looking at the blueprints spread out on the bench before him. "Regarding my after-inception comments about your imagination… I take them back. You are clearly just as boring as you used to be."

"For God's sake, Eames, it's a treehouse not the Taj Mahal!" Arthur brandishes a hammer at him, looking strangely out of place in Cobb's backyard in jeans and an old T-shirt. Eames had not been aware he owned such casual clothes.

"But it can be better than just a box! Honestly, darling. What about stairs, hmm? Better than a ladder. And here we can add a window. I can even put glass in for that. And then here, we should add another room." He pokes the plans and rubs his chin. "Maybe we should call Ariadne."

"We are not calling her here from Washington just to design a stupid- Look, Eames. The blueprint is perfectly serviceable."

"We should ask the kids what they want."

And it is just then that James and Phillipa run out of the house, squealing happily and followed by their father, who is carrying a tray of snacks. Cobb looks at the two builders and the lumber still lying on his grass and sighs. "You haven't started yet? You've been here for two hours."

"Sorry," says Arthur. "I had to design it and Eames is being a-" he looks at the kids, "Annoying," he finishes.

"He's doing it wrong." Eames straightens up, frames his hands and looks through them at the oak tree, squinting. "There's plenty more room for innovation. This tree can support about twice as much weight as Arthur thought, and if we got a bevel in here, it could be so much better. We could add another room and sloping roofs and stuff."

"What's a bevel?" asks James.

"I want a window!" says Phillipa. "And a shelf for all my dolls."

"I don't want dolls in the treehouse!" James cries, frowning.

"Kids, that's enough," sighs Cobb. "You can decide what to put on the shelf when it's _done_." He looks pointedly at Arthur and Eames. "In the meantime, who wants to call grandma?"

"Me!" chorus the children. They run back into the house. Cobb examines the wood one more time and then also goes in.

"Well," says Eames. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"I hate you," says Arthur.

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Teehee. :) Reviews are nice!


	3. Poker Face

What is this I don't even... Prompt: Arthur and Eames's totems get it on/flirt/banter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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Arthur and Eames are asleep. It has been a long day, and long but enjoyable night, and they are exhausted. Their totems are on the bedside table.

"Finally," says the poker chip. "They've folded for the night."

"Excellent," says the die. It blushes red in the low light. "We can be alone."

"Where do you want to go?" asks the chip. "To the bar?"

"That's not how I roll."

"Then to a casino?"

"Your ideas are always so flat," snaps the die. "Why don't we go to a nice restaurant? What about Masa? We are in L.A."

"What? How much do you think I'm worth?"

"It's okay," says the die. "I'm loaded."

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*puts on sunglasses* Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh!

*Ahem* Reviews are nice, and yes I know it's short. XD


	4. Something in My Eye

Prompt on the meme: Arthur cries during (consensual) sex with Eames.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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It's after he's shuddered through the last of his orgasm that he feels it, the familiar prick at the corners of his eyes, the feeling like his heart has dropped away somewhere. He squeezes his pillow as his throat constricts and makes it hard to breathe. Behind him, Eames has also finished and settled against him, one well-muscled arm come around to hold Arthur at the waist. Arthur will not let him see, or hear, his weakness. He bites his tongue to keep from gasping as the first tear slides down his cheek.

"Mmm… Darling," Eames murmurs, rubbing his nose against the back of Arthur's neck. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on short, normal inhalations. Eames kisses his shoulder. "Arthur…" Eames pauses in his ministrations, suddenly aware of the tension in Arthur's coiled frame. "Are you all right? What is it?"

Arthur exhales. "Nothing," he says, but the word is shaky. His next breath turns into a quiet sob, and he presses a hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry," he manages, shoulders shaking.

"For what?" Eames pushes himself up and turns Arthur onto his back so they can see each other face to face. "Arthur?" Eames looks horrified. "Did I hurt you?"

Mutely, Arthur shakes his head no, blinking up at his lover through the tears.

"I did something wrong," Eames says, the bitter comment aimed inwardly.

"No, Eames," Arthur says. "It's n-not you. I always j-just get like this…" He would be embarrassed by the stuttering, but he sobs again, this time wrapping his arms around Eames's waist and pulling him down to bury his face in Eames's brawny shoulder.

Eames doesn't know how to explain that, so he doesn't. Instead he just rubs Arthur's back and kisses his face and does his best to be there for him.

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Review? POINT.


	5. A Little PickMeUp

Done for a prompt on the meme. ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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They haven't even done anything too stressful that day, so Eames supposes that Arthur just isn't looking where he's going when he slips on the stairs. It isn't a long flight, just five or six steps leading down from the street to the parking lot, and Arthur doesn't land that badly. He probably has a bruised tailbone, but that's all. So Eames doesn't really get why Arthur's curled up like that and muttering "Shit shit shit" under his breath.

"Are you all right?" Eames asks, jogging over. He's seen Arthur take falls that are ten times worse, even in reality, so this reaction seems odd. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

"No," grinds out Arthur, who isn't clutching his ankle, or his tailbone, or any other part that impacted the stairs. His hands are actually wrapped carefully around his left knee, thumbs digging into the sides of the joint. He hisses.

"What is it? Your knee?" Eames cocks his head to the side.

"It's been bothering me all day," Arthur admits. "It gave out as I was coming down." He grimaces as he tries to flex his leg and stops before he even extends half-way. "I think I might have twisted it last night." Last night when they had to leave the bar running, trying to escape from the _Carabinieri_.

"Oh," says Eames. "Think you can walk just a little further, darling? If you can make it to the car, then we can go find a clinic or something." He holds out his hands, which Arthur reluctantly takes, and pulls the man to his feet.

"Oh God," says Arthur, and it becomes obvious in the first few seconds that his leg will not support his weight. Eames catches him before he falls, placing steadying hands on Arthur's shoulders.

"All right. I guess I'll have to carry you," Eames says, smiling at the look on Arthur's face. "What, sweetheart? I'm not going to let you hop one-legged all the way across the lot. Probably make the pain worse, and all that. So, which will it be? Piggyback? Fireman's carry?" He pauses for effect. "Bridal style?"

"Hell no," says Arthur. "Turn around." With a bit of wriggling that Eames, decent for once, doesn't comment on, he gets his arms around the forger's neck, his legs around his waist. Eames tucks his hands under Arthur's thighs for support.

"All right, love?"

"Just walk, Eames," sighs Arthur. He clings grimly to Eames's shirt as the man starts forward, his knee breaking into a fit of throbbing that leaves him breathless.

"How 'bout I run you a hot bath back at the hotel?" Eames suggests when they're halfway to the car and Arthur's little huffs of pain have become audible. "Would that help?"

"Probably," says Arthur. They reach the sleek little sports car Eames is renting for the week and he struggles down and into the passenger's seat.

Much later, it turns out that a hot bath does help quite a lot. So does Eames's massage. And the naked cuddling. In any case, Arthur goes to sleep without pain.

He waits until Eames is snoring softly to whisper "thank you."

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Reviews make me happy! :D


	6. You Dance a Dream

Dancing is sexy. This was written for Cherrybina's commentfic meme on LJ.

**Warning:** This chapter is rated R-ish!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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Arthur once again slides Eames's hand back up his back until it is resting just under his shoulder blade. "Really," he says to his partner. "Behave."

"It's so very hard when you're wearing tights," Eames observes sardonically, turning with Arthur again to the beat of the music. Their feet pad almost noiselessly around the empty dance studio.

"I'm not wearing _tights_," Arthur hisses, ears turning faintly pink. "They're leggings, asshole." He frowns. "Do you want to learn or not?"

"Yes, thank you," Eames chirps, and falls silent. They continue around the floor, not speaking, only dancing. It only takes another minute or two for his hand to slip down and rest on the curve of Arthur's behind, applying a gentle but firm pressure that makes Arthur tense up against him.

_"Eames."_

"Yes, my dear?"

Arthur sighs and steps back, extricating himself from Eames's grasp with curt efficiency. Eames pouts but does not try to keep him, just folds his hands behind his back is a mockery of standing at attention. "Look," says Arthur. "This is annoying enough without your weird fetish for my ass."

"I'd hardly say it's-"

"In any case, you are disrupting the lesson. So! We're going to try something new." He walks over to the speakers against the wall and pulls out his iPod, changing the selection. When he replaces it, the immediately-recognizable rhythm of a tango spills out. Eames raises his eyebrows, but makes no comment as Arthur comes over and assumes the position of leader. He is content to be led; his knowledge of tango is... limited to say the least.

This is clearly not so with Arthur, who steps confidently, every now and then telling Eames what to do in the calm voice of a teacher. Eames falls into the pace and starts to enjoy himself, impressed by Arthur's easy movement and the way he allows the music inside like nothing else. It is when Arthur starts to improvise that Eames begins to get nervous. Somehow, although Arthur is still in control, he has ended up with his back to Eames, and the distance between them in negligible. Eames can feel the heat radiating from Arthur's back... Even more distracting is the touch of Arthur's ass as Arthur fits them neatly together. Eames begins to sweat when he realizes how much friction is being created as they move, and his cock twitches, nestled between the two smooth halves of-

"Problem, Mr. Eames?" Arthur asks, though Eames can see the twitch of his lips as he tries not to smile.

"No," he manages, but he tries to take the lead and turn Arthur out and away from him. Arthur will have none of that, however, and he slaps Eames's hands back to his hips. He then rolls sinuously against Eames in a manner that quickly drains Eames's brain of blood and leaves him stumbling. He is now more than half-hard, and Arthur knows it, is delighting in it, and is probably going to humiliate him for it. Eames swallows nervously. "Arthur, I-"

"Oh? Tired, are you?" Arthur draws away again, ignoring the pained sort of moan Eames lets out, and goes to stop the music. "We can have another lesson tomorrow." With that, he promptly collects his things and leaves the studio, though not before posing in the doorway and shooting Eames an amused look.

"Oh, fuck," Eames breathes, and lets his head fall back against the wall.

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Yep. Reviews are lovely!


	7. Up to Eleven

This was written for the kink meme, for a prompt that wanted competingly-loud sex. I'm not so good at explicit, so this little 'censored' snippet was written instead.

Pairings: Ariadne/Arthur, Eames/Robert. I don't ship them, but I couldn't resist the prompt.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

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It's just past eleven when the loudest moan yet can be heard through the wall. Finally fed up, Eames slips a bookmark into his paperback and looks up, taking off his reading glasses. He sighs. "This has to stop," he says.

"That's what you said two hours ago," mumbles Robert. He's in his pajamas – has been for quite some time – and is curled up under the covers. The frown line creasing his forehead is a clear indicator that he isn't even close to sleep, though. He opens his eyes. "Can't we just bang on the wall? Or call the front desk?"

"I have a feeling Arthur would skin me alive if I did that," Eames says. There's a low moan from the other room and then the thumping starts up again. Robert sits up and gives a wary glance to the print mounted above their own bed, which is rocking on the wall. "No. I have a better idea."

"What?" Robert rubs at his eyes. "Please tell me it's not illegal."

"Still with these hang-ups of yours," Eames teases, getting up and sitting on the coverlet beside him. "No, it's perfectly legal. Let's be louder." He lays a hand suggestively on Robert's thigh over the sheet. "You can beat Ariadne in a volume contest hands down."

Robert flushes red to his ears. "That's- You're filthy. No. I have a meeting tomorrow morning. They'll stop on their own. They have to."

"I hear Arthur can have multiple orgasms," Eames confides speculatively, studying the wall.

"I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry, pet, but we really need to take matters into our own hands. Yes, hands-on problem solving. That will do the trick." He's tugging the blanket down as he speaks, Robert offering little resistance, and then he's palming Robert's cock through his flannel pants. He can feel it respond quickly to his touch and smirks. "You're eager enough, it seems."

"Fuck you," says Robert, and draws him into a messy kiss.

-aaa-

"Pass the butter, please," Ariadne says, and covers a yawn. She looks exhausted. She's even got her hair pulled back today. "Arthur? I said…"

"Sorry. I heard you." He hands her the butter dish. His attention is on someone across the room, on whom he's spying over the top of his newspaper.

"Is that Eames over there?" Ariadne sets the knife aside and takes a bite of his toast. "Tell him he sucks."

Arthur sniffs. "I don't plan on talking to him at all for some time."

Unfortunately, that's when Eames decides to join their table, wending his way through the hotel restaurant with ease. He's cheerful when he arrives, disgustingly so. "Good morning," he pronounces, and steals Ariadne's other slice of toast. "Sleep well?"

"Quite well, yes," says Ariadne, covering another yawn. "No thanks to you."

"If Robert were here, he'd be blushing," says Eames, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "But I assure you, I have no such sensibilities." He takes a bite of toast. "Of course, if you ever want to have a _proper_ contest, I'm sure he'd be willing…" He ducks away laughing before Arthur can hit him with the newspaper, and even has the gall to start whistling.

Ariadne puts her face in her hands.

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